


a good day

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Series: tumblr mugged me in a back alley [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 16:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: @aw-hawkeye-no suggested fluffy WinterHawk with Pizza Dog. Clint takes Lucky for a walk.





	a good day

Clint loves this park, which is why he and Lucky come here pretty much every day they can. There’s a swing set right in the perfect place, facing this nice long stretch of grass, so Clint can sit on a swing and throw Lucky’s nasty drool ball over and over again, and he gets to swing while Lucky chases it down. There are nice people who smile at him, and sometimes there are kids who wanna play with the dog, and it sorta helps him forget about all the other shit in his life for a little while.

Today’s no different: he’s sitting on the swing, toeing at the ground to rock himself back and forth gently, watching Lucky try to decide whether he wants to bring Clint the tennis ball (old, but proven) or this stick he found (new toy!); the sun is peeking through the leaves, warming his back, and there’s the murmur of people nearby and someone saying, “I like your dog,” and he has enough money in his pocket for street pretzels for him and Lucky both after this, and things are just great for a moment.

Clint belatedly realizes someone is talking to him.

He turns to look, saying, “Sorry,” and oh _shit_ it’s Hot Park Guy.

See, Clint comes here a lot, and he can’t help people-watching sometimes, and when Hot Park Guy is around he can’t help specific-people-watching, aka staring at Hot Park Guy while he sits on a bench and writes in a notebook. Hot Park Guy is, well, hot, but he gets this relaxed look on his face whenever he writes something good, and Clint has always thought he would be interesting to talk to, and now he feels like he’s been caught out at something.

“I like your dog,” Hot Park Guy repeats, something like a smirk teasing around his lips. He’s holding the notebook, leaning up against the metal pole of the swing set.

“Thanks,” Clint says dumbly. “He’s a good dog,” he says, even more dumbly, because he’s still kind of in shock. Hot Park Guy is literally even hotter up close and Clint kind of wants him to come sit in his lap.

“What’s his name?”

“Um,” Clint blurts out, “Pizza.” He corrects himself: “Dog. Pizza Dog.”

Figuring he needs a distraction to shut himself up, he whistles then, and calls, “Lucky! C’mon, you’ve got a fan.”

Lucky turns and starts bounding over, leaving both the nasty ball and the giant stick, and Hot Park Guy chuckles as the dog leaps up halfway into Clint’s lap, pushing the swing precariously backwards.

“So is it Pizza, Dog, or Lucky?”

“Oh my god,” Clint says, mostly at himself, “I’m stupid. His name is Lucky but his, uh, title? Nickname? I guess. We call him Pizza Dog, cause for a while that’s all he would eat.”

“Can I pet him?” Now Hot Park Guy looks a little eager and a little shy, and if Clint had realized he had an absolute magnet for hot scruffy men he would have used Lucky like this a long time ago.

“Of course!” Clint tosses Lucky out of his lap and finally gets out of the swing (Hot Park Guy saw him on the _swings_ like a _child_ ), crouching down to grab the dog’s collar. “He’s pretty enthusiastic, though, careful if you don’t want slobber all over your face.”

“I like dogs,” says Hot Park Guy, also crouching down next to Clint. He tucks his long hair behind his ears, then reaches out to let Lucky sniff his hands (one’s in a glove, _weird_ , but Clint’s too busy trying to not lick the guy’s jawline). Lucky, of course, bounces at a new friend, and Hot Park Guy laughs and starts petting Lucky, scratching behind his ears and trying to pet his back while the dog wiggles in absolute joy.

“My name’s Clint,” Clint finally says, thinking it’s a good idea.

Hot Park Guy looks up at him, and he’s smiling broadly, which is apparently devastating. “Bucky,” he says, and offers Clint his hand.

Clint reaches out to shake, but Lucky decides he doesn’t like not being the center of attention any more and twists, and pounces at Clint, who of course loses his balance and Hot Park - Bucky - reaches out like he’s trying to help but Lucky leaps at him too and then they’re all tangled, Clint flat out on the ground with Bucky above him, braced on his hands. Lucky is, of course, standing on Bucky’s back now, with that lolling dog grin that means he invented a fun new game that _everyone should play_!

“Shit, sorry,” Bucky says, hovering inches above him. He seriously gets even hotter up close which is completely unfair, and Clint blames his eyes - blue, and grey, an interestingly pale shade lined with dark lashes - when he blurts out, breathy, “You should at least let me buy you dinner first.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, and that smirk comes back into play.

“Lucky, _off_ ,” Clint says, and the dog jumps off and scampers away, probably to relocate the tennis ball. Bucky slowly shifts himself so that Clint can sit up. His brain notes that Bucky hasn’t moved all that far away, because his brain is a traitor.

“Sorry,” he says. “Fuckin’ Pizza Dog has a real dumb sense of humor.”

Bucky rocks a bit so that his shoulder presses into Clint’s briefly, and says, “Maybe you should.”

Clint stops his mouth from gaping with sheer will and, in an attempt to not be a huge idiot, says, “We could start with a street pretzel and work our way up?”

Now Bucky’s smile is that same eager-shy thing but turned on Clint, and Clint’s breath catches in his throat. “I’d like that,” Bucky says, “but that means dinner’s on me.”


End file.
